Old Fool
by Saphire Basil
Summary: The last moments and the last journal entry of the Hero of Kvatch. A viewpoint through the eyes of Sheogorath during the Mind of Madness quest in Skyrim. Might be a series of drabblet later on. - On Hiatus, see profile.
1. The Last Thoughts

_The realm reflects the Princes…_

I mumbled incoherently and punched my pillow a couple of time before stuffing my face into it.

_The purple air swirled violently. Coiling, roiling, bristling and shoving. Light streaked beneath the angry dark purple cloud, flashing blindingly and rumbling deeply. A raging storm. Thunder crackled and wind howled as the fierce air swirled in a maddening pattern._

_A glimpse of grey could be seen beneath the angry purple; the grey obsolete, unchanging and adamant under the shifting purple storm. It looked like an island… frozen, bleak piece of grey slab and the purple storm, like an unstoppable force, was trying to tear it apart._

_The Isles… just sat there like an immovable rock. The just storm crackled as if chuckling while it sweeps across the surface._

_At the Isle's center, where the storm seemed circle around, stood yet another grey stubborn metal figure, fixated onto the very spot, not toppling against the presence of the storm. Jyggalag._

_The storm seemed to dance around the Prince, as always in its maddening pattern while the wind lashed and tried to push the Daedra into its embrace. Lightning even struck the stubborn metal yet not a single flinch or stagger from the Prince. Jyggalag, pelted with hails, blizzard, wind, lightning, even sand, stood there adamant to be the only order in the raging storm._

_A sinister purple figure was waiting, just outside the edge of grey circle Jyggalag stood in. Appearing and disappearing with the wind, but always there, watching for the fall. With golden cat eyes fixated on its grey metal prey, Jyggalag was a mouse within the storm's presence, caught in its claws._

_But now Jyggalag isn't there anymore. The Order no longer inside the Madness, no longer the anchor, the barrier that holds it back, instead I stand there in place, in the mercy of the storm._

* * *

I woke up with a start, gasping as cold sweat clam my clothes against my body. In the dark, I sat there on my bed.

'By the Divines,' I whispered hoarsely as my hands shook when I brushed my face.

I'm no Prince of Order. Yet I'm going to stand against a massive storm like that, against… infectious madness without falling? I don't want to go mad. I don't want to go mad. Staring at my hands, I looked up sharply at the walls closing in around me. Walls don't move… unless it's a trap. A spark snapped from my fingers. I jumped out of my reverie and quickly extinguished the fireball spell forming.

Calm down, calm down. I breathed in deeply and blinked rapidly. You're in New Sheoth, within your palace filled with the demented and the manic. You are not at the Asylum. You are here in your colorful flamboyant bedroom… that once belongs to the previous Sheogorath… which is kind of creepy now that I think of it since I'm sleeping in… his bed. Do Daedric Prince even use bed? If they do, I shudder to think how Sheogorath use it. I need to tell Haskill to get a cleaning crew in here. Actually, get pyromaniac mages to burn this room—no, no, no. Too excessive. Just clean everything.

'HASKILL!' I bellowed.

'Yes, my lord,' a voice sighed. The chamberlain appeared suddenly on my right, as if he was always there and been waiting.

'Get the servants to pack some food into my bag. I'm going,' I ordered. I need to get out of HERE!

'Again, my lord?' There was a disapproval tone in Haskill's voice.

I need to leave this place. Just for a while. Just to get my head sorted out. These dreams… I've been having are not normal. No Vaermina's since there's no sadistic cruel touch of hers.

I glared at my chamberlain. 'Just pack. I need to check Cyrodiil anyway. I have other duties in Tamriel also.' Mages, Dark Brotherhood, Fighter's guild, helping Ocato, the Blades, etc. 'You do know that, right?' I asked my somber chamberlain.

'Whatever you say, my lord,' Haskill said politely before walking out of my grand room.

I watched him go. While everyone is weird and crazy, he seems to be the only one sane and unchanging on this Realm. Strange… maybe he's leaching my sanity and that's why he's so sane. He's definitely no mortal.

I slapped my forehead at the thought. Stupid paranoia. I've been having weird thoughts, panic attacks and even hearing voices. And the dreams… I breathed in. I really need a break from Shivering Isle.

* * *

I groped the inside of my pack and picked up the Cyrodiil Brandy. Uncorking the bottle, I stuffed the liquid down my throat before staring at the statue in front of me.

'Hi Martin,' I said blandly to the statue. 'How's life as a statue?' I continued drily, ignoring the looks people were giving.

They should have gotten use to this. While everything in my life is unpredictable and had no decent schedule, this was the only thing constant in my life. Every week, one day would be spent drinking in front of the statue. At least, talking to it… even though I'm not the type to talk much. I started this habit after… the end of Greymarch. Probably a sign of my growing insanity.

'You know Ocato looks more stress… and old,' I said and slumped myself against one of Martin's dragon leg. 'Probably with the Elder council and little upstart thinking they can take your throne,' I snickered and gulp down another mouthful of brandy.

'I had to kill three morons as an assassin. Another one in a challenge.' I rolled my eyes, remembering the time I had to equip the Emperor's armor and armor is stuffy even though I'm used to wearing for hours on end. 'You know me,' I shrugged. 'The Champion of Cyrodiil. Your unofficial right hand man.'

I raised my bottle at that. No regrets there, my friend. I smiled at the looming huge dragon stuck frozen in a triumphant roar. 'If someone is going to take the throne, it would be someone with a sense of decency for you,' I grumbled and thump my head against the hard stone surface of Martin's leg

'We could have bloody rule the whole of Tamriel,' I said quietly as I stared up at the silent roaring dragon. 'I would get the chance to laugh at your face while you fumble and stumble at ruling the Empire. And you will get responsibility,' I grinned then frowned darkly.

'But you had to die on me, didn't you,' I muttered sourly, my eyebrows crinkled. 'All the pain I went through. I bled, fought, clawed, struggled just to get your ass on the goddamn blimming throne, but you hardly get to warm it before Dagon came out the bloody Oblivion and went all out rampaging like a…' I stopped in my mid-rant.

Good gods, I'm more insane than I thought or it might be the alcohol. I stared at the brandy. It's spiked. It's spiked. It's spiked by Sanguine, I narrowed my eyes. Immediately, I threw the brandy down the hard courtyard, smashing the glass into million pieces. Pulling out Wabbajack, I gave a blast at the spilled liquid, promptly changing it into millions of ants. Well… that's new. I didn't know I could change inanimate obj—

'Stop! You CRIMINAL SCUM!' I heard the imperial guard barked.

'Oh shut up!' I yelled back and raised my staff.

* * *

I got my ass handed on a silver platter for disrupting the "peace". But not without turning a group of city guards into farm animals and unleashing a troll onto the unsuspecting citizens of Cyrodiil. I snorted as I lay at the back of my jail cell. It's been more than four hours now, and the guards about to change shift.

'Valen Dreth,' I called out to the Dunmer next door, knowing that bitter dark elf was waiting to say something spiteful when the guards finally leave. 'Say anything about this and I'll personally come out of my cell and strangle you. Got it.'

I heard the sharp intake of a response coming only to be interrupted by scuffing footsteps and loud protest.

'Your grace, this is no pl—'

'You sir, had imprisoned the Champion of Cyrodiil,' I heard Ocato's calm collected voice interrupted. 'Stand aside now.'

'But—'

'Stand back, soldier!' another voice barked. The commander no doubt.

'Yes… sir.'

Opening an eye, I ended up staring at a disapproving glare of a High Elf imperial battlemage.

'Morning,' I raised my hand in greeting and smiled at the high elf.

Ocato's stare grated through the bars of my jail cell.

'Do you want to stay in here?' he said coolly and gestured at the cold drab jail cell.

'No, but…' I let it hang.

'Quit drinking on every Fredas then,' Ocato said, his voice hard and determined on this.

Hmm… I thought about it. 'You won't let me out until I stop drinking, right?'

He nodded.

I sighed. 'Fine,' I grumbled. 'No drinking days with Martin.'

Ocato's face softened when hearing this. 'You are acting like a child. Martin wouldn't want you grieving,' he scolded gently. 'Not like this and by the Nine Divines, you are the Champion of Cyrodiil. Act like a proper citizen.'

'Martin shouldn't die then if he didn't want me to be a drunkard,' I muttered this under my breath as I got up.

Ocato gave me the hard stare. 'What would Martin say if he saw this?'

I made a stormy face. Oh yes, I can imagine what that priest would say.

_'My friend, you need to stop for your own good.'_

Remaining silent, I stood there, in front of my cell, under Ocato's disapproving gaze.

'What am I going to do with you?' Ocato said under his breath before gesturing the guards at his side. The door to my cell unlocked and screamed open. 'Compare to you I've got bigger problems,' he added when I marched out and brushed past the guards.

'What is it?' I asked, curious and knowing this might be a potential to get my mind off my worry… such as my sanity.

Ocato turned to stare at me. 'You weren't really drunk when you lashed out, weren't you?'

'I don't need to be drunk to go on rampage,' I replied drily. Not with the current state of my mind, I frowned at the added thought.

'Thalmors. They're riling up the High Elves. Taking the chance at the empty Imperial throne,' Ocato said, his voice curt but I'm hearing the sound of anger beneath those layers of diplomacy training.

'Thalmors?'

'High Elf supremacist. They believe that they stopped the Oblivion Crisis, and that it proves they are the superior race,' Ocato said in disgust. I raised an eyebrow when I heard this. 'It's Mer like them that destroy good diplomacy,' Ocato added this as he escort me out of the dungeon.

'Want me to go on an expedition and thump them back into place?' I suggested innocently.

The Chancellor stopped and stared at me with that gaze that clearly made High Elf famous. 'We will not intrude the trouble within Summerset Isles. These are High Elf problems, not the Imperial's. And I have faith that my race would see through this trouble with common sense.' He went back walking and I promptly followed him.

That's the thing about the Elder Council. They want to be "neutral". Complacent, I mean.

'I am the Champion. I act as the Emperor's right hand. Actually I am the Empire's right hand,' I added. 'It wouldn't be wrong for me to _assist_.'

Ocato sighed. 'You own Cyrodiil's assassins, thieves, mages, and fighters. And that makes your service undeniably valuable,' he grumbled.

'You know of the illegal factions I control?' I said quietly and looked over my shoulder, seeing the two guards following behind. I thought he's the type of guy who's careful and too busy to notice some… dark things about me.

'They're safe,' Ocato told me as I eyed the guards. 'I'm not blind or deaf, you know. Why else would I let you accompany Martin then?' he said ruefully. 'You make an excellent Champion because you have a place in the underworld and the common world of every day citizen.'

'It does make things easier to know where dangers coming,' I said as we stepped out of the dungeon.

'That's why I made you a Champion. Martin would need someone like you until he has a secure hold on the throne,' Ocato said sadly. 'Even he's gone, the Council will need people like you for the hard time to come.'

'Ocato. I would never abandon the Empire. I bled too much for it even though I never wanted to do anything for it _before_.' I shrugged. 'I promise, I will never leave the Empire at its dire time,' I said and gave a reassuring squeeze on his tall shoulder.

* * *

All was not well for the citizens of Shivering Isles. The realm, the Madhouse, had changed drastically throughout the decades.

Oh it still has its charming colorful Mania side and of course the bleak dangerous Dementia, but let say the land and the normal rule of reality is now far much broken up than it usually was, literally. As in the land, the Isles have become pieces of floating islands scattered in an illogical pattern all over the void; all precariously held by some unknown force that defied the normal laws.

Beneath all the random drifting islands, was once the ground but now an abyss filled with colorful turbulent of an angry storm. A storm that changes randomly from arrays of thunder and lightning, to sandstorm, blizzards and even a hurricane. Thankfully these violent storms happen _beneath_ the Shivering Isle, not above.

If there was a certain logic to the Isle's change, Haskill would thought it as an ironic symbol of what madness is like now that order is no longer part of it. That madness was now embodied into the body of a hero, and the hero was fighting it.

The realm was simply reflecting the losing battle. Despite the effort, the Hero was now more like the former Sheogorath than not.

Haskill snapped out of his reverie when heard the rattle of metal clinking marching up from behind him. He turned around and stared at the Golden Saint.

'Sir, our lord has disappeared again,' she said grimly.

The chamberlain sighed. The former Sheogorath wasn't this troublesome.

'Call off the search party,' Haskill ordered. 'I will find our lord,' he grimaced, feeling the magical ties to his lord tugging.

Compare to the former, the new Sheogorath is the Gray Fox, and that meant knowing the art of being unseen and sneaking off from responsibility, Haskill thought irritably as he walked out of the Palace.

* * *

Haskill stopped before the sight. The Door to Cyrodiil glowed brightly purple at the end of the platform, but it wasn't what made him stop. It was the person that was pounding against it. His lord was practically bashing the portal as if it was some solid barrier barring from entry. Slowly, Haskill stepped up the grey slab of the platform.

'My lord?' he asked carefully.

"Sheogorath" spun around and stared at him, looking frantic with golden cat eyes wide and desperate.

'Ocato's going to be assassinated! I've got to stop it from happening! Only THIS—' _He_ punched the portal only to have the gauntlet-fist bounce off, '—is not letting ME!'

'My lord, it could be you are a Daedra now, as in your body is therefore,' Haskill said the words very carefully as his lord's breathing quickened, 'your… friend's sacrifice is finally affecting you.'

There was silence except for the sound of someone hyperventilating. 'You mean I can't… go back. I can't enter Nirn anymore?' Thunder crackled ominously. 'No. You lie.' The sound of sword unsheathing rang softly in the silent air.

Haskill knew this day was coming. He looked up to the sky that had darkened into deep angry purple. The wind was rising from the low hum in the background.

'You ALL are holding me back here!'

'My lord, I would do no such thing and have no such power to stop you from going,' Haskill said calmly to the angry madgod who had a sword firmly in grip.

'Save your breath,' a snarl was only his reply.

Great a rampaging madgod with trust issue.

The sword swung and Haskill muttered the words, 'Forgive me, my lord,' he said and use the summoning spells.

Silver blade clashed against a golden one and Haskill quickly stepped aside at the arrival of the Golden Saints and Dark Seducers. The weather took this moment to burst into frenzy. Wind howled and hit the chamberlain at full force, sending him stumbling back at the sudden shove from the air.

'My Lord!' a Saint cried through the howling wind. 'Please! We are your loyal serv—!' A blade through the heart cut off the rest.

Lightning flashed from above, and Haskill felt the air crackled. He searched quickly for the Hero, who was surprisingly cutting through the ranks of Saints and Seducers even when overwhelmed.

The sky rumbled as if responding to the murderous presence of the madgod. With a flash, thunder struck, disintegrating numbers of Sheogorath's soldier. The rest were thrown off from the force, including the chamberlain.

The only one standing was the lord of Shivering Isle, unharmed and breathing deeply before collapsing to the ground.

* * *

Haskill sighed as he shut the curtain, darkening the bedroom. What a day and is not everyday one is thrown off by a thunder strike. He stared at the Madgod, wonderfully and peacefully sleeping in bed. That's the merit of the new Sheogorath. The guy sleeps, while the former was twenty-four hours awake and causing havoc. Except when the Hero cause a havoc, it's usually more excessive than the former's.

Haskill stared disapprovingly at the sleeping madgod before turning around.

'Haskill,' a quiet hoarse voice called from behind him.

He stopped and braced himself. 'Yes, my lord,' he said in his calm voice.

'I'm sorry.'

The chamberlain stood there in the dark. 'You don't need to apologize,' he replied neutrally.

'I'm supposed to take care of you as promise to the former Sheogorath. I just ended up trying to kill you instead,' a weak chuckle escaped from the grand bed. 'Why in the Oblivion do I feel so damn weak right now?'

Haskill frowned. Perhaps _He_'s not there yet.

'You used your _powers_,' Haskill explained. 'The thunder you conjured, that's no normal thunder.'

'Oh. Well, I feel like someone had cast Exalted Pain on me.'

The chamberlain frowned deeper. 'Was it Relmyna Verenim that cast such spell on you?'

'The cuckoo lady who had a relationship with the former Sheogorath?' The Hero drawled.

Haskill rolled his eyes. Only Relmyna would assume such thing like that.

'Well… yes. But I got some kinky, dirty manacles from her in return…'

Haskill raised an eyebrow but saw the shiver from the small bump beneath the bed's duvet.

'If I'm the new Sheogorath—'

'You are, my lord,' Haskill interjected.

'Whatever. The point is would she… you know… think I'm associated with her, considering I help her make another… child. If so, I don't think I want to be.'

'No, my lord. She would not assume such thing,' Haskill sighed, because he plans to tell that small tidbit to some jealous Saint and Seducer to sort this insecurity out.

'Tell the Mazken and the Aureal I've slaughtered I'm sorry… if they have come back from the water, of course.'

'I'll be sure to tell that to them. Anything else?' The chamberlain waited.

'Pass me the scrying mirror from the dresser,' a hand slipped out from beneath the cover and pointed at the enchanted mirror.

So that's how _He_ knew, Haskill thought privately, remembering the name mentioned. Ocato, was it? The High Chancellor of the Elder Council.

The chamberlain did as he was told, grabbing the big mirror. It was more of a silver plate that could work well as a serving tray. He passed it to the waiting hand that immediately clasped onto it tightly.

'I'm fine now. You can leave.'

Haskill bowed and silently left the bedroom, shutting the ornate door behind. He stopped when he heard the soft sound of murmur coming from his lord's room, then a moment of silent. The sudden sound of glass smashed into thousands burst. The mirror, Haskill assumed and was about to walked back in when he heard the quiet sob.

'I've failed… again,' a muffled moan, barely heard. 'Lucien, Martin, Traven… Sheogorath, and now Ocato.'

* * *

_Storms howl._

Oh no, not this dream again.

_Winds pound._

Wake up!

_Thunder crackled. Lightning flashed._

I. Must. Wake. Up.

_Sands lash. Hail beat. The mad god awaits._

I stared at the swirling purple vortex around me.

'New Arrival!' a cheerful voice rang crystal clearly even through the storm. '_How about that?_' the voice turned sinister. 'To think my champion would think I'm dead.'

A firm squeeze clutched on my cheek before a sharp slap hit me across the other. Ow.

'Sheogorath?' I yelled out to the purple storm swirling around me.

'Who else would it be? Your conscience! Hah, that's a good one. Since you don't have one at all! Or maybe you did… but now you don't.'

'What!'

'Well... I knock the leftover off. It makes it nice and roomy in here,' the omnipresent said cheerfully.

Oh Divines. So that's what Jyggalag meant. That's what the dreams meant. I've not only replaced his position as madgod. I took the curse! Curse… into a body of madness—

'Now, now, I'm no curse. I've always existed even before Princes stuffed me in Jyggalag's body,' the jovial voice chided. 'I was like… Hammy!' the voice brightened up.

'Hammy?' I asked the purple storm incredulously.

'Hermaeus Mora. You know, the tentacle swirly Akaviri black noodle. Very stuffy. Likes hoarding books or any one of your dirty secrets.' Sheogorath's voice explained cryptically.

Hermaeus Mora… the Prince. The Daedric Prince of Knowledge.

'Madness never needed a body since its part of everything!' Sheogorath continued. 'I was in the back of everything's mind!'

'You mean everyone,' I corrected.

'EVERYTHING!' Sheogorath boomed and I flinched. 'Why the very idea of Order is madness also!' The purple storm laughed, strangely echoing against the howling in the background. Yet for some reason I'm hearing _two_: a sinister laughter and a brightly jovial one.

'Since you're here, WE,' I dreaded to think what's going to happen next, 'are going to have so much _fun_,' the last part was said darkly. 'In here!' Sheogorath's voice added cheerfully.

And what fun—I couldn't think the rest when I was suddenly slammed by the wind, sent flying, FLYING through the air, and pulled around like a sword swung wildly by a spastic Adoring Fan. Urgh, this is what it feels like to be in a cyclone—wait, scratch that. In a hurricane.

* * *

**Poor Hero. Treated like a doll. Plus I might write more of the change from a Hero into Sheogorath.**

**EDIT: I hate my brain. I forgot the part where I killed that annoying dunmer in the Dark Brotherhood quest. Whatever, it's not like you guys are correcting me for that. And bleh, my writing is shit when I'm not serious.**


	2. Journal

**I need this out of my head. He's been bubbling and poisoning other characters into OOC syndrome. Therefore I must separate the madness from affecting them. Plus, he needs more love and I also notice my poor Hero of Kvatch never gets a proper respect even if he's the leader of all guilds, champion and all that crap, and he/she tolerated it all. Forgive me for my grammar.**

* * *

I'm now the new Sheo. Not sure if I'm mortal, god or whatever. I don't feel like one definitely. I don't even look like a Daedra. Even Haskill wasn't sure. Jyggalag mentioned his doubt also but time will tell. Anyway, Haskill told me the Realm now reflects my mood and the state of madness. I don't feel mad… or feel weird yet. I'm not really sure me being the new Sheo is a wise choice but then who would be crazy enough to do the stuff that I have… or seen.

* * *

Haskill informed me I have to attend duties… responsibilities of the Realm. The Duchess of Dementia and Duke of Mania as always coming to court with something to complain or annoy the oblivion out of me. Honestly, since when was I meant to take a courtly life or even settle down in a demented or manic one anyway? This… this is something Martin could handle, was meant for… not the insane side or maybe he could. He'd said to me once that he had some experience with the Daedras. Funny, how our roles switched. Yeah, funny. Martin, you told me I am to be the scribe of the next Elder Scroll. How I am to do that when I'm… I'm stuck with THIS! And Martin, I think you were drunk. Everyone knows the Elder Scrolls blind those who read it. And me, writing one?! Hah! Only a madman can do something like that… or a mad god, let alone vision one. There goes me, rambling in my journal. Anyway, I need to go back to Cyrodiil and visit him. How long has it been? Almost a year, I think. I'm sorry old friend. I would visit your awe-inspiring dragon statue if I haven't been SO GODDAMN CAUGHT UP WITH THIS HORSESHIT!

The Blades must be worried.

* * *

Shivering Isles has been suffering storms after storms. Haskill said it's because of my mood. Oh sure, I can't take my time sulking even when I'm his lord. It's not like I can force myself to be happy you know! Only a mad man can switch from sad to happy in second. Actually, that's something the old Sheogorath could do. I'm amazed at the mood swings he has, and not all were pleasant as he could suddenly turn dark and dangerous all of a sudden. And the Shivering Isles wants a lord like that? A troll. Hm, I can start with the trolling about. I've been known to cause havoc and mayhem in my bored time even before the Isles. Let's see if they like it.

Also my hair is going silver. All out silver. About time I think. The stress of all the adventuring and saving the world has finally caught up… and Oblivion, my eyes have turned yellow.

* * *

Isles have been suffering a drought. Not my fault. I'm bored. Bored. Bored. BoredBoredBORED! Even the usual entertainers bored me! So I did the drastic. I played magic. I had plenty unused and I wanted to do SOMETHING. I juggled the entertainers and laughed madly at the looks they were giving me. Then I throw them out of the windows, breaking them and raining the halls with glasses. Their screams and the sound of bones breaking reminded me of good old time. How long has it been since my last adventure? I didn't miss being slashed, burnt, stabbed, and all that crazy pain stuff. But I do miss the rushed feeling of life being dire all of a sudden. Been sighing a lot. I think I plan to go out the realm for a while. I need a break.

I also told Haskill to do the dancing this time and the look on his face was priceless.

* * *

Haskill saw me dancing alone in the throne room. He backed out immediately. Saw the look on his face. Priceless. Just priceless. But I soon grow bored. I'm running out things to do. I know, I should pluck my own eyes out. See if it grows back. See what I did there? Besides, the yellow cat eyes are horrid anyway

* * *

Gave Haskill a heart attack when he found me eyeless. Told him I was fine. Didn't hurt actually. And the wonderful thing happened, my eyes grew back without me healing or any prompting at all. I asked him what's going on and he said the Oblivion magic, particular the Madhouse was finally working. My body is becoming immortal… And that's weird, because my beard is hardly growing.

Also, my Daedric Prince's artifacts have been disappearing. I'm going to find the thief and plan to rip his spine out from out of his mouth… but I'm guessing after not being used for so long, they all have returned to their masters. And their masters would probably lose it again…

* * *

Time… time past. Friends past away. They grew old. Some I hardly recognize. I'm losing memories. Who am I? I hardly recognize myself anymore. Every time I try to remember, I see me, but a different me but all… all became me, this me in the mirror. I'm becoming lost within another… another that's filled with blood and destruction. And it always goes on and on with stark clarity… so clear. It's Jyggalag's memories. Another was full of screaming and passionate laughter. They blend so well together that I couldn't tell who's screaming or laughing. It's the sound of insanity. No doubt, it's Sheogorath's. I'm losing myself. I've done things that I wouldn't think or imagine in a million years… yet I have, and did. I'm even remembering memories… memories about the dawn of Nirn, the beginning. Padomay and Anu… I can't describe it, but I'm losing. I think I'll stop writing. I'm sorry, but I grew bored of recording my own thoughts. They have… become unpredictable lately and hard to catch also.

* * *

Dear Journal. This will be the last ever entry I will ever put into you. You've been my most faithful companion through thick and thin. Some pages are actually caked with my blood and those of my enemies. The edges are either burnt or chapped. Ho, you've seen a lot. So it's fair that you deserve a reward. I'm going to turn you into a tree… wait, are you made of animal's skin? That will be a problem if it is. But anyway, I'm turning you into a tree so that I could talk to you instead of write. But if I don't, forgive me for being unfaithful. Probably because I'm too busy being a cat while trying to get into Aethurius. Ho! I've got a better idea. I'll put you into my wabbajack. Give you life! It looks boring and ugly anyway, and my inscribed thoughts would give it a whole new charming look.

* * *

**Can I have some constructive criticism here? For the story, I meant.**


	3. The Mind of Madness

'More Tea, Pelly my Dear?' I smiled at the dead emperor.

Never mind the stranger in the background who so had barged in out of the Nirn! No, mind the stranger! Oh who cares anyway. Look, Pelly's talking. He's talkiiiiiing. Focus, focus… what is that blasted stranger skulking in the background doi—FOCUS! I stood there smiling as I listened Pelly's rambles. Strange, my mind—minds—thoughts—voices wandered yet I heard it all, knew what he had said.

'Oh, I couldn't,' Pelagius the third refused my offer numbly. 'Goes right through me.'

Good point, Pelly! He's amusing fellow, isn't he?

'Besides I have many things to do,' he continued like ye old good COMPLAINING ASS HE IS! Actually, he's more of those complainers you find in taverns! Wonderful sorts you find in them. 'So many undesireables to contend with. Naysayers. Buffoons. Detractors. Why, my headsman hasn't slept in three days!'

Pelly, he's dead—wait! It depends. What time is it? Can't say for sure, I gave a quick glance at Pelly's grey demented mind around the clearing. Dead trees stood in the grey mist with dull shrubberies decorated the wilds. The sky dark and stormy. Impossible to tell the time like this. I've never it seen as something so… linear anyway. Bah, time's overrated.

Focus on Pelly, that irritating part of me wrenched me back to the present. The emperor was staring down on his hands, downcast. Or he might be imagining all the bloods on them. Hah! Poor Pelagius. His madness just made things worse for him. Who wants an eccentric emperor these days, or a dead one on that matter? Mortals! Can't appreciate things these days. Still… they loved him and celebrated a holiday under his name…

'You are far too hard on yourself,' I said gently as I smiled benevolently. 'My dear, sweet, homicidally insane Pelagius…'

My eyes twitched again, towards the stranger in the background. She had seated herself by my table now, fiddling with her apple pie on her silver plate. How rude… I think the apple pie thought so since its shaking with such anger!

'…What would the people do without ya?' my mouth ran off. 'Dance? Sing? _Smile_?' I gave a short bark as one part of me said that while the other watched the stranger very carefully. '—Grow old?!' I grinned from ear to ear. '_You_ are the best Septim that's ever ruled.' _Not!_ But he's famous.  
'Well, except for that Martin fellow,' I added quickly as old… old memories bubbled up. Strange, this never happened before. 'But he turned into a dragon god, and that's hardly sporting.' I brushed off.

I really need to visit Martin in Aethurius… I wonder how he's doing? Perhaps Pelly could take example from me. I was crazy enough to do all the things back then and look where I am! Totally fine! Totally fine!

'You know, I was there for that whole sordid affair. _Marvelous_ _time!_' I smiled as I recalled. _Killing mudcrabs, stabbing Lucien say-waa…_ Or was it stabbing mudcrabs and killing Lucy? Oh never mind that. Remember those purple… 'Butterflies, blood…' I continued good-naturedly. Fun times… fun times.

A demonic ugly red-skin Daedra popped into my mind. Mehrune has an awful fashion sense! He really needs to wear proper clothes.

Movements shifted at the corner of my sight. _She_ slipped the apple pie quickly into her possession with nimble fingers.

Think herself as the Gray Fox, eh? Eh?! A sharp whiff brushed past me. _Martin?_ Old memories suddenly niggled somewhere in the back and this time my head jerked towards the stranger. _DIVINE! AKATOSH'S CHILD!_ Ooh, dragonborn!

'…a Fox,' my mind wandered on randomly.

That I can't remember… actually I remember. It's just I remember other versions of me. Plenty of them actually. Was I a woman, man, imperial, dunmer? Doesn't matter as all did the same one way or another even if the path was different or done in a different order… or entirely ignored. All is me and what I've done is what they've done. If they did this, I did this. So if one part did not, they still did it because THEY _are_ ME!

'A severed head. HohohoHO!' I chuckled partly at my thoughts, and partly at the memory brought up. The scattered part at least drew back together—well some…or most of it just for the coming thought. '…Oh, and the CHEESE! To die for!' I grinned and sighed.

'Yes, yes, as you've said,' Pelly's voice drawled patronizingly. I stared at the bored look on the emperor's face. Pelly doesn't really look that excited, really.

Maybe I should rip his intestine out and use it as a skipping rope. Love to see the look on his face as I do that in front of him! Hah!

'…countless time before,' he drawled.

I raised an eyebrow at the bored emperor slouched on the chair. Ungrateful, aren't we? Fine… Fine! FINE! FineFineFineFINE!

'Hafrumph! Well then,' I crooned. 'If you're going to be like that,' I said slowly. 'Perhaps it's best I take my leave…' I am after all on a holiday.

My eyes sharply zoned onto the female stranger on my right all of a sudden. Now far too close to my liking when she eyed the heap of cheese nearby. Akatosh's child has fingers where they shouldn't belong, especially on my cheese. MY CHEESE! She quickly snatched it and it disappeared in oblivion knows where. _THIEF!_

'A good day to you sir. I SAID GOOD DAY!' I snarled at Pelly before focusing all of me on the only guest in my grace.

'Yes, yes, go. Leave me to my ceaseless responsibility and burdens,' Pelly mourned in the background before disappearing with a burst of purple vortex.

As if sensing the grace… or madness, the female stranger spun around to face me in wide eye. A small '_eep!_' escaped her lips. Mousy for a Nordic _and_ for one who's dragon in mortal flesh, I narrowed my white eyes on her. She backed away very slowly and seated herself down on one of the dining chair under my glare. It's no fair she should suffer my wrath since it was Pelly who just soured me. I rested my hands on my hips.

'How rude!' I snapped finally. 'Can't be bothered to host an old friend for a decade or two.' Really, Pelly. As a madman, I expected him to be happy to have me here. But that's mortal for you!

'Wait,' a small quiet voice escaped from somewhere in front. I looked at the dragonborn and waited politely. 'Where… are we?' she asked slowly.

'Inside the mind of Pelagius, silly,' I told her. It's pretty obvious, isn't it!

I thought dragons have a good sense of direction. Guess being here must have confused her. Hah, that's a good joke. What did the last dragonborn said at a tea party? _I'm the lost dragonborn!_ Hah, hahahaha!

The look on her face was of confusion with big blue eyes bewildered.

'Oh.' I know that face. I KNOW that face! That's my face! Ho, so this is what I looked like when I met me. Haha. Must be hard for her. It was certainly hard for me. I got the whole shebang of Shivering Isles shoved down my throat. She only got a piece that's Pelagius, which is small compared to the whole lot! '…Is it your…' I said it gently, 'first time?' I inquired with a soft smile.

More confusion flashed over her face. Now that I think of it. I think I've made it sounded something awkward and wrong, just plain wrong. I wanted to snicker. Me and my foolish thoughts!

'Who were you talking to?' she asked, hesitatingly.

'Pelagius, the third,' I answered simply. 'Now, surely even you know about Pelagius' decree?' From the blank look I'm getting, I think not. 'On his deathbed,' I begin my voice somber as all storyteller tended to do. 'Oh, and this was inspired,' I added quickly with a grin. 'he forebade… DEATH!' I shouted.

She jumped at my sudden ferocity.

'That's right! Death! Outlawed!' I slammed the dinner table with my palm as I laughed crazily. How ironic. I was denied of that when my body changed _back_ due to the Oblivion's magic.

Silence escaped from the dragonborn. She stared at me, as if realizing something. Oh they are always silent before asking for something.

'I'm here to deliver a message,' she blurted.

I raised my eyebrows. 'Reeaaaallllyyy?' I stared at her.

It's been a long time. Wonder who? Forget the who. 'Ooh, ooh! What kind of message?' I asked excitedly. 'A song?' They're nice. Unfortunately, Pelly wasn't a big fan of it. So I've been sitting here listening to the horrid boring dull tunes of silence.

My thought brightened as I guessed another, 'A summon?' More fun with the mortals. They're so gullible. Or… 'Wait!' I snapped, causing her to jump again.

'Ah, I know!' My arm crossed and my voice deepened darkly, 'A _death_ _threat_.' I glared at her. Her face paled and she opened her mouth to protest. '—written on the back of an Argonian concubine!' I added quickly and burst into laughter.

It warms my shriveled old heart at the thought of Malacath and Mehrune's effort to scare me. Those two! So expected of them, especially Dagon. Still soured at his defeat 200 years ago. I laughed more before looking back at the dragonborn. She stared at me with her priceless face.

'Those are my favorite,' I explained calmly.

She said nothing, just kept on staring in wide eye and I frowned deeply.

'_Well?_' I growled. 'Spit it out, mortal,' I snapped. 'I haven't got an eternity!' Wait—I paused. 'Actually… I do,' I said in wonder and smiled helplessly, ignoring the look of nervous and fidgeting fingers from her. 'Little joke,' I grinned to her. 'But seriously,' I focused back. 'What's the message?' I asked normally this time.

'I think I made a mistake coming here…' her quiet voice so low that I had to crane my ears.

Ah the doubt. Always the doubt. 'Oh, no, no, no! NO mistake at all. What you made…' I stared at the dragonborn who was doing the same, quietly.

How can a stare be so quiet? Her thoughts are practically streaming out of her eyes like the trickles from a broken fountain, and trickles can scream very loud...

She's definitely a fledgeling without wings but she'll fly, '…was a choice,' I finished as the memories of Uriel Septim popped into my mind.

I could've refused him, but I didn't. Strange, isn't it? These callings. I suppose it's the same calling that brought her here. But… 'Granted, not a very wise choice, but these things happen.' I laughed as I mused, 'Ah, the folly of youth…'

The dragonborn did the unexpected. Her face suddenly darkened with a bitter look on her face. Oh… I know that look. No sane mind would've accepted the fate of being the hero of the ages. That's why Akatosh gave no memories before the calling. A coy dragon who knows ties are anchors that weighed heroes down. I had nothing, what else was I suppose to do back then?

And what's with the memories bubbling up! So what. She's dragonborn! Just another hero with destinies wringing her neck, but a small pity niggled in me. As the hero of Kvatch—I've… seen many thing. And she will to and it will be a test to her sanity. And the Princes are not helping either.

They're, as always, playing the betting game on who's turn to have a go on the hero. All wrestling to pull the destiny's strings chained on her. One day she's going to get her limbs ripped off from all those pulling. Good thing I gave all my strings to myself only.

'You know, you remind me of myself at a young age,' I said in reminisce.

The dragonborn just blinked. No, don't tell her. She already heard the clues. Better not give her more.

'All I cared about was riding narwhales and sleeping in honeycombs and drinking baby tears,' I grimaced at the last part.

It wasn't really as sweet as the stories tells. But the things I had to do for those quests, and some just plain ridiculous than the lies I'd told to the Daedric princes.

I smiled dreamily and focused back. 'Word of advice. If you ride a Narwhale. Mind the pointy end,' I told her seriously, ignoring the look of outright disbelief in her eyes. 'Ah, but there I go, waxing poetic about my misspent youth. Now where were we?' I paused as my eyes narrowed on my racing thoughts. I laughed as I captured my thoughts again. 'Yes! You're the mortal messenger. And I am…?' I smiled in waiting.

Martin never used my name—names! So many of them. Some hardly pronounceable. Some hardly makes sense. But like many others, Martin never used it. He only called me as, 'my friend'.

A creased formed between my eyebrows. Always with Martin this, and Martin that. Sure the dragonborn may emit a far stronger aura than the blood Martin had in his once living body. But let's see if she can beat her predecessor's feat.

She's no Martin for sure, after all… I can sense Molag Bal, Nocturnal, Azura, Sanguine, even Sithis' claim on he—wait, it might be Mephala. And knowing these deities since I partied with them, I'm pretty sure she had to do some indecent deeds. No Martin definitely so let's not give her the wrong idea.

Still, I gave her all the clues. I waited patiently as she fidgeted under my stare.

'Honestly. Have you any idea?' I said slyly. The ignorance of mortals are amazing. They can feel it, but they can never connect their feelings to what's in their noggin of theirs. Let's see if a dragon can beat them at this. I heard their intelligence surpasses those of mortals.

'You're a madman,' she said quietly as she stared at me.

'Jolly good guess.' I smiled as I narrowed my white eyes on her.

Oh yes, she can feel the madness in the air. Cold, and subtle… grates against the skin as it breathes behind the neck. A companion that can be cruel as it claws the senses too much that it frustrates the unwary into madness. Pelagius had always been the paranoid sort.

'BUT only half right!' I corrected her and she flinched. 'I'm a mad _god_. _The_ Mad God, actually,' I said as I recalled. I'm the only one who's willing to claim the mad title. Huh. 'It's a family title. Gets passed down from _me_ to _myself_ every few thousand years,' I told her. 'Now you. _You_ can call me Ann Marie.'

I grinned as her face turned incredulously. Mine darkened when I burst, 'But only if you're partial to being FLAYED ALIVE and having an angry immortal skip rope with your entrails!' I glowered down on her. I've never liked people calling me by my past names anyway.

'That would be you, I guess,' she murmured quietly.

Unlike any mortal, she didn't shrink in her chair. She stared back! Her eyes flashed into ones belonging to a dragon. HoHO! So that's the dragon! And with an attitude. Oho! I smiled as I tilted my head.

'If not…' I shifted onto my other foot. 'Then call me Sheogorath, Daedric Prince of Madness. Charmed.' I flashed a smile.

The dragon disappeared all of a sudden, leaving a Nordic mortal blushing and fiddling the hilts of her weapon. An odd match with the fancy clothes she's wearing. She probably had known, but it's different when hearing the definite coming out the living breathing facts.

'So does that mean you'll leave? Or not?' she blurted.

'Now that's a real question isn't it?' I thought about it. 'Because, honestly,' I wondered, 'how much time off could a demented Daedra really need?'

I had originally guessed seconds since madness is unpredictable little bastard, but I've been spending a decade or two already in Pelagius mind. Procrastinating, I've been procrastinating. I wanted to laugh. I'd even procrastinate when the Greymarch was on the way.

'But more to the point,' I pursed as I focused back. 'Do _you_, tiny,' she frowned, 'expandable little mortal—actually think,' I stared with my narrowed eyes on her, '_you_ can convince _me_ to leave?' I said darkly. 'Because that's… crazy!' I grinned.  
'So,' I said sharply, getting her attention when she straightened.

Oh she senses a quest coming. How nice.

'Here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to leave,' I said simply, and she blinked in disbelief. 'That's right. I'm done. Holiday… complete!' I snarled, causing her to wince. 'Time to return to the hum drum day-to-day,' I told her simply and paused before my tone turned serious. '_On_ one condition.' I smirked.

Her face broke. Hahahaha! I must have looked like that when Sanguine told me to do a _service_ for him. No wonder that spell worked on me also. I still need to get him for that. Oh, I know! That Frat Boy will learn the whole new meaning of hangover.

I smiled nastily. 'You have to find a way out first. Good luck with that.' I smirked as I watched the gears working behind those icy blue eyes.

'Okay, what's the catch,' she said, her eyes focused.

'Ha!' I grinned. 'I do love it when the mortals know they're being manipulated. Makes things infinitely more interesting.' I waved my hand at the bleak grey clearing we're in. 'Care to take a look around? This is not, I dare say, Solitude botanical gardens. Have you any idea where you are? _Where you truly are?!_' I challenged her. The dragonborn just cringed at me. Oh this is the good part, I smiled at her sweetly. 'Welcome! To the deceptively verdant mind of the emperor! Pelagius... the _third!_' I grinned.

Her eyes widen. Haha! She thought it was just a random guy named Pelagius!

'That's right!' I rubbed it in. 'You're in the head of a _dead_, homicidally insane monarch! Hahahaha!' I laughed.

There was a panic look on her face. She was way out of her familiar water here. But I'm no mean spirit here. I'm the Daedric Prince of Madness! Not vengeful ghost!

'Now, I know what you're thinking,' I said soothingly and she looked back up at the sound of my calm voice. 'Can I still rely on my swords and spells and sneaking and all that nonsense? Sure, sure.' I nodded and relief rushed across her face. Of course, she would be relieved. Everyone would panic if they found themselves wearing fancy clothes and attending tea party in gods know where.

'Or… you could use,' I paused and she tensed. 'THE WABBAJACK!' She jumped and I chortled, 'Huh. Huuuh! Didn't see that coming, did ya?' I grinned ear to ear.

Most fun toy of them all! It's been lonely anyway. Meant to be used for mass havoc and not as my cane. I don't need a cane anyway, stopped using it for a while. But it's here… somewhere around, I frowned as I place my hand _into_ the air, groping through the void. The familiar warmth of an old friend sparked the tip of my fingers. Oh there we go.

I pulled it out and threw it straight at the dragonborn. She yelped but her hands snatched the flying staff securely. The dragonborn sat there for a while. She stared at the staff and admired the yawning holes that reminisces the mouths of screaming faces. It used to be steel, but I thought it was cold and boring. Now she can look the face of those in agony when she's bored. Hahaha!

I immediately seated myself down on my cold hard throne. Bleh. I really should bring cushions next time. Now here's my cue to watch, I smiled and motioned the dragonborn to go.

The days of my doing has past. Let's see if she could do it better than me. Probably not if she's the one to follow _logic_. Hmm, I'll need to concentrate if I'm to guide her without driving her mad. Making contact using the mind, especially with a psyche that I have, is not something trivial.

I stared into the distant. The air too quiet and the candlelight's hardly melted away Pelagius' demented thoughts.

'Um…' she stood suddenly on my right, looking down on me hesitatingly.

I looked up with a raised eyebrow. 'Do you mind, I'm busy doing the fishstick. It's a very delicate state of mind!' _Damn right it is!_

Pelagius mind is calm due to my presence. She should have known that. If I wasn't here to stable the storm, nothing would make sense or at all manageable! Why else would people go mad just from entering the haunted palace's wing. I stared at her with my white eyes and she slowly retreated under my glare. She turned around and quickly ran off under one of those stone arches that littered around Skyrim. Oh… she's taken the path of dreams.


End file.
